Those Howling Sounds
by CityofDestiel
Summary: A short piece featuring Hermione and Flynn. Based in the modern day world :) Might continue and please review! ENJOY! :)


Terrible howling sounds were coming from next door as the grumpy policeman shoved Hermione into the rotting, mouldy cell.

She stumbled around in the darkness, running her grimy fingers along the murky walls of the cell. A rasping voice murmured from the corner, "your eyes will adjust...just give them time."

Suddenly Hermione lost her footing, twisting her ankle on a small, unnoticeable hole in the floor. She fell down on a pile of old rags. As her eyes adapted to the dim setting, the bundle moved and she could make out a man. With curling snake tattoos circling his arms and his multi-pierced face, he had a startling look but despite this, he was extraordinarily devilish and unnervingly good to look at. His tousled brown hair was sticking up at odd angles and even in the darkness, Hermione found herself blushing and she hastily applied her cool fingers to her rosy cheeks.

The man shifted around, his blankets forming odd shapes on the grungy floor. He smiled and held out his hand, realising a moment too late the state of it, and hastily pulled it away. "Flynn", the man grunted. "Flynn Rider."

Hermione took in the man and made a snap decision. She decided to ignore the blood-stained, raw palms and stumpy cracked fingernails and smiled her disarming criminal smile. She stated her name and settled back against one of the walls, her left shoulder facing the thick black door.

The cell was small, barely the size of a car and _certainly _not big enough to fit two people inside. Hermione's boots took up most of the space, their fat black soles encrusted with spikes threatening to impale anything they could touch. Flynn stared curiously at them and Hermione watched as he took in her ripped jeans, too-big biker leather jacket and frizzy hair. She regarded his curiosity growing as his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes resting on her studded, makeup layered face.

"So..." Flynn winked, causing her mouth to twitch into a small smile. "What'chya do to end up in this place?" He moved his leg, so it nudged her as she spilt the details,

"You know...the usual...fraud and credit-card scams...plus I may have pinched several crates of guarded valuables from the bank. Sometimes my high extensive knowledge goes a bit too far and it leads to these...antics" She grinned proudly, as she continued, as if her heists had amused and satisfied her, despite where she had ended up. She looked up from her laced hands, "...what's your story?" Her eyes explored his while silence filled the room.

"Don't be alarmed..." he explained grimly. "This is where they lock up the worst of us. My crime is worse than all of yours put together. I don't know how to explai..." Flynn trailed off, wanting permission from her to continue. As Hermione placed her icy hand on his, he knew it was safe to go on. "The princess..." he started, his eyes closed and his voice hoarse. "We were close, and then something happened..." He explained slowly, Hermione listening intently, her eyes watching him the whole time. As the story progressed, Flynn's breaths grew laboured, and the words came out faster.

Hermione sat there in shock as Flynn delivered the final line, her eyes wide, her mouth dropped in horror. She tried to form words, but they were stuck in her throat and her limbs were frozen, not just from the chilly air in the cell.

"Say something Hermione..." Flynn pleaded, his eyes matching his sorrowful tone. Her sudden jovial mood had vanished and she shook her head, feeling like she'd swallowed a load of cotton balls.

She fumbled for words, Flynn's eyes silently begging her to understand, to forgive, to forget. But she couldn't.

Time passed.

How much, they weren't sure, but the minutes stretched out into hours and silence hung in the air limply. Each moment, one of the convicts attempted to speak, but the words were never presented.

Occasionally one glanced at the other, then quickly darting the gaze away, afraid of making the matter worse. If anything could possibly make it any worse than it already was.

Despite the lack of words, the message was clear. Hermione had scooted up in the opposite corner, hugging her legs, with her head leant against the wall. They were still close in the small cell, but she gave off the clear radiation of disgust and dismay, as if someone had punctured her easy-going bubble with a knife. That, Flynn was sure, he had done. Hermione's occasional sighs of disappointment were the only noises in the murky cell, until their friendly neighbour continued with his howling again.


End file.
